


no matter how, i live with it

by slytherinbunny



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dermatillomania, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Klance Reverse Bang 2018, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Relationship, Trichotillomania, lance and keith bond over similar mental illnesses, mentally ill author, no langst tho bc i aint about that, pre Klance, shiro is an older brother figure to lance, shiro is the original shiro bc i aint letting that skunk haired bitch near my lancey boy, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinbunny/pseuds/slytherinbunny
Summary: Lance has dermatillomania, and it's getting bad again. He's struggling to cope. On some level, Keith can relate - because he has trichotillomania - and he comforts Lance, letting him know that he's not alone in this.The halls seemed endless as he walked, a perpetual itch beneath his skin that needed some sort of scratch. He thought, as he walks, that he had settled more towards the side of numb. That’s. Yeah. Fine, he guessed.He broke a bit before he even got to him room, nails scratching at his arm, at any small little bump. There was almost a sense of urgency about it, like if he didn’t something bad might happen.Something bad already happened.





	no matter how, i live with it

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning! There's a scene where Lance actively has an episode of dermatillomania so if that might be upsetting please be careful!!
> 
> Written for the Klance Reverse Bang 2018!! Thank you to my lovely artist, Raven, whose art for the fic can be [found here](http://corbeaucreations.tumblr.com/post/173226358402/one-of-three-pieces-i-did-for-the-klance-reverse) Please give them some love!!
> 
> Also a shout out to Kitty who helped beta at the last second!! Give their fic [warning signs; when completely ignored](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/klance_reverse_bang_2018/works/14364918) a read! I betaed it and honestly it was an amazing read!!
> 
> Lastly, I'd like to say that I deal with both trichotillomania and dermatillomania myself and I tried to do it justice with my fic. I wanted it to be realistic and not just an angst fest, and I hope I did that! Thanks everyone who reads this!!

It wasn’t something he did on purpose. It was more of a nervous habit, really, something subconscious. It was small things at first. A zit here. Hangnail there. It wasn’t a big deal. Lance had it under control.

 

Except then he didn’t. Small things piled up, making it a bigger and bigger issue.

 

Little thoughts niggled in the back of his head, about small flaws with his skin, and they wouldn’t leave him alone until he fixed it. Half the time he didn’t even notice the thoughts or what he was doing until it was too late and the damage was already done. He’d zone out, not even think about it until he was bleeding.

 

Scabs and raw patches of skin built up. He mostly hide it well, he thought. It wasn’t a big deal. He had it under control.

 

He dug his cuticle cutter a little too far into his nail bed one day, and he spent the next few with a raw finger that hurt at every little touch. It wasn’t a big deal. He had it under control.

 

He spent nearly half a quintant scouring his face for any little small imperfection he could fix. He’d dig his nails into his skin, until he saw no trace of the zits, except by the end of it his face was red in a way that couldn’t fully be covered by the makeup he managed to get. It wasn’t a big deal. He had it under control.

 

It was after a bad mission that he finally admitted that maybe he didn’t have it under control.

 

The mission wasn’t exactly a failure, but it didn’t go as planned. People were lost, lives just gone. They still managed to save people, but not everyone.

 

And fuck.

 

When they got back, lions touching down in their bays, and paladins trudging down with heavy limbs and heavier hearts, they had a tense debrief. Lance was halfway between tears and numbness and honestly he didn’t know which way he was leaning more. From the clog in his throat he would have guessed tears, but the weird electric anaesthesia in his limbs suggested numbness.

 

The debrief took all of hours and seconds at once, caught in a weird time limbo, before they broke, everyone heading off in their own separate directions, first Shiro, then Pidge. Hunk lingered a moment by Lance’s side and gave his elbow a quick squeeze before he silently crept off.

 

Lance was distantly aware of Keith at his side. He was present enough to see him, feel him beside him, just close enough that he could almost touch him. He was also aware that Keith’s hand kept running through his hair, maybe an anxious gesture, and how Keith seemed to almost need something.

 

But Lance was still a weird sort of sedated, and while he was aware of Keith, he really didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this information.

 

So he shared a quick look with Keith, something both loaded and empty, before giving a quick nod and a small frown and leaving the common room.

 

The halls seemed endless as he walked, a perpetual itch beneath his skin that needed some sort of scratch. He thought, as he walks, that he had settled more towards the side of numb. That’s. Yeah. Fine, he guessed.

 

He broke a bit before he even got to him room, nails scratching at his arm, at any small little bump. There was almost a sense of urgency about it, like if he didn’t something bad might happen.

 

Something bad already happened.

 

Fuck.

 

It’s all almost a blur after that, time seemed to warp around him.

 

He was back in his room, locking the door behind him. His nails were at his arms, his face, anywhere he could get. He took off his jeans and went after his legs. He was pretty sure his nail beds were bleeding again. A patch of skin was missing in his belly button. His face must have been a mess.

 

It took more effort than he’s willing to admit to himself to stop. He doesn’t know how long he was picking at his skin but it was too fucking long either way. Fuck what was wrong with him?

 

He sat on his bed for several long moments after he’s stopped, pants cast to the side and shirt still rucked up. Deep breaths. Five seconds in, seven seconds out, levelling out again. He didn’t look at his hands or his arms or his legs; he was scared to look in a mirror.

 

He just sat. Rubbed his hands over his face, and tried to figure out exactly when he lost control over this so badly. He had it under control. It _was_ fine. Fuck.

 

He winds down and down and down until he was no longer numb and no longer high off stress. Until he was back on the ground, stable as he can get.

 

Then, he assessed the damage. His nail beds were definitely bleeding, and he’s covered more ground with this than he thinks he has ever touched before. He needed to clean this up, cover it up so he doesn’t have to look at it and be reminded of how he’s failed.

 

He ended up in the little bathroom attached to his room, digging through an Altean first-aid kit. He bandaged himself almost methodically. He’s done this too many times before.

 

First his hands, antibiotic cream gently applied and bandages wrapped carefully around his fingers and his knuckles. He didn’t look in the mirror as he moved on to his legs, giving the same gentle treatment. He moved up, trying to take his time, avoid the inevitable as long as he can.

 

Maybe if he pretends it doesn’t exist it’ll go away and he won’t have to think about it.

 

It doesn’t go away. Soon he’s faced with looking in the mirror and bandaging his face. He almost cries looking in the mirror, tears burn in his eyes like acid in a cut, his throat clogs up again as a sob halfway forces itself out before he can choke it back.

 

His face is covered in cuts and scrapes and scratches. Quite a few of them were still slowly bleeding, others have stopped and just formed gross looking scabs, the rest just look pink and raw and disgusting. Why did he do this. There’s no way he can hide this.

 

He sped through his face so he didn’t have to look at it anymore, covering what he could and leaving the less terrible ones alone to heal. He tried not to cry as he does. He wanted to say he’s successful. He knew he wasn’t.

 

He tried his hardest not to think of the bandages and what they cover and what he did as he goes to bed hours early. He knew he wasn’t successful at that either.

 

He spent half the night awake.

 

\--

 

He almost didn’t go to breakfast the next morning. He laid in bed for a solid twenty minutes trying to decide if he even wanted to. His stomach won out though. He didn’t eat last night and now it was sore with emptiness, making unpleasant gurgles as it tried to digest food that’s just not there.

 

So he got up. Begrudgingly. He wore his usual jacket, but he decided for the first time in a while to flip the hood up. Maybe it’d be less noticeable that way. It’s a hope that he knew was stupid but he couldn’t help but hope anyway.

 

He’s the last one to breakfast, he figured he would be. Pidge and Hunk were already leaving to work on their latest tech project. They seemed lighter than they did last night. Shadows still clung to their shoulders and there are bags under their eyes that they’re too young for, but they were lighter than yesterday.

 

Pidge was babbling some tech nonsense to Hunk, something about fixing the ABSO data, she didn’t spare him more than an absent ‘hey’. Hunk caught him, half out the corner of his eye as he still listened to Pidge babble. He half smiled at him apologetically before doing a double take.

 

He pinned Lance with a look that says he’s definitely going to be talking to him about this later. He had good intentions but. Lance didn’t really feel like talking about it yet. He appreciates the concern and he knew Hunk wouldn’t judge him it’s just. Not yet.

 

Hunk squeezed his bicep gently as he and Pidge wandered off, reassuring, promising that he’s not judging and that he’s just worried all in one wordless touch.

 

Lance will talk to him later. He could rely on his best friend. Right now he just wanted breakfast.

 

When he entered the dining area, only Shiro and Keith are left, having a hushed conversation. They were too quiet for Lance to hear the words, but he could hear the low hum of Shiro’s voice. He wasn’t sure if Keith just wasn’t speaking or if he spoke too low to hear, but he didn’t hear Keith speak.

 

They didn’t notice him at first as he sat down in front of his usual spot. There was a bowl of food similar to porridge left out for him, though he doubted it was still warm.

 

He could feel Keith watching him from the corner of his eye, could feel as Shiro turned more directly to face him, looking across Keith to address him. He glanced sideways at them as he stirred his porridge, watched as Keith fiddled with something in his lap, eyes down.

 

A tenseness hung in the air, as both he and Keith remained silent for their own reasons. Lance built himself a mental wall, promising to make it through breakfast. Shiro cleared his throat.

 

“Good morning, Lance, glad you could join us.” There was a genuine warmth to Shiro’s voice, a subtle welcome, but there was also another layer to it. Something knowing. Not pushing, not asking much of him, just something quiet there that says that he knows.

 

Lance kept his eyes on his porridge as he murmured a response.

 

“Lance.”

 

He looked up at Shiro more directly. He had stood up, walked around Keith to stand beside Lance, watching him with a warmth in his eyes that made Lance’s chest ache. He was smiling that kind sort of smile that made you want to trust him with your problems.

 

Water began to creep up Lance’s wall. Not enough to spill over yet but enough to worry him.

 

“You don’t have to tell me exactly what’s going on. Not if you don’t want to. But I want you to listen to what I have to say.”

 

Lance nodded, letting his eyes dart over to where Keith still stared as his lap, before resting them on Shiro’s face again. God, he was making the same face Luis made whenever Lance came to him with troubles. Homesickness echoed in his gut, leaving him feeling exposed. Water was lapping higher up the walls, finding the weak spots in his wall.

 

“Going through what we do is tough for anyone, but especially for someone as young and kind hearted as you. I get it. I’ve been where you are. You want to help everyone, save everyone, you’re too kind-hearted not to. It’s hard when you can’t help. I’ve been exactly where you are. Don’t beat yourself up over this, figuratively or literally.”

 

Shiro rested his palm on Lance’s shoulder and the younger man felt something wobble in his chest at the action and his throat felt tight. Shiro’s eyes were warm and soft in a way that made him miss his older brother and yearn for home in such a raw way. The wall couldn’t much take much more, water threatened to spill through the cracks.

 

“I kinda know what you’re going through. It’s tough, Lance, it’s not an easy thing to have to deal with on your own. You don’t have to be alone with this though. If there's anything you ever need me to do that can help, just ask. I’ll do whatever I can to help, even if it’s silly. Reaching out has helped me with my PTSD. It’s helped Keith with his problems too. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this, ‘cause you’re not.”

 

The warmth in Shiro’s voice was too much to bear. The wall broke. Lance’s face is wet. He tasted salt in his mouth and he couldn’t seem to get a lungful of air and it was too much and he missed home and his brother and and and-

 

And he was wrapped up in Shiro’s arms. For someone so strong, his hugs are gentle, almost surprisingly soft. He sat there in Shiro’s arms for what could have been an eternity, letting himself feel exposed around someone else.

 

In the back of his mind, he was aware that Keith was still there, could see his eyes dart from Lance to the hair tie twisted in his fingers and back. He was distantly aware that Keith looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut.

 

But he savoured the hug, the warmth of human contact, and let himself fall into Shiro for support. He cried into his shoulder and Shiro let him, didn’t mind the mess he’s clearly making of his shirt.

 

\--

  


He felt a bit better after breakfast. Still like he’s gone through the wringer one too many times, but it felt less like an emotional burden. He ended up telling Shiro about his skin picking (and technically Keith, too, though he’s not sure how he feels about Keith knowing.)

 

Shiro was nothing but supportive, accepting the problem and letting Lance talk through his feelings. He almost seemed to know already what Lance was going to say, like he’d heard a similar story before. Lance would question it if he wasn’t so tired. But he was, so after the three of them finished breakfast, he sequestered himself in his room and caught up on the sleep he missed the night before.

 

He was in that half dreaming state that you’re in when you first wake up when he thought he heard a knock on the door. He laid there a moment, waiting to see if it was part of his dream or if there really was a knock. A heartbeat passed before he heard the knock again, only this time louder.

 

He heaved himself out of bed, stumbled across the room on half asleep feet. His hair was a mess but it’s whatever. It took him two swipes to hit the pad beside his door that prompts it to jump open and when it did he was surprised to see Keith with his arms crossed standing there instead of Hunk.

 

Lance stood there a moment, processing. His brain felt like a computer buffering, trying to load a proper response but everything just comes up blurry and half there.

 

Keith rubbed the toe of his boot along the floor. “Can I um.” He paused, clears his throat. Looks down from where he was half looking at Lance, trying and failing to make eye contact. “Can I come in?”

 

Lance brain buffered again before he managed to spit out an appropriate response. “Sure.”

 

He half stepped back as he let Keith in, who beelined for his bed, perching himself on the corner. Lance took his time finding his footing as he went to sit beside him.

 

Keith’s hands were running through his hair again as he sat, a half conscious gesture before he seemed to catch himself and pull his hands away, fingers pulling out a few strands of hair. He made a face at this, a twisted look of discontent, and shook the black strands free from his hands.

 

Lance watched him carefully from across the bed as he did this. Watched him move from his hair to the elastic around his wrist, twisting it around his fingers and snapping it back against his skin. Watched him open his mouth to speak only to hesitate and fall silent.

 

They sat like that a while. Lance patiently waiting for Keith to speak and Keith silently trying to find his words.

 

“I-”

 

The sound hung like an empty picture frame on the wall. Something there, but it needed more to complete it. Keith took several more moments to find the right words to fill the frame.

 

“I get how you feel about the skin picking thing.” Keith let the statement hang in the space between them before he continued. “I get it. I pull out my hair and it feels the same to me. Always when I’m stressed, always uncontrollably, and it’s just- I get it, Lance. I had a relapse last night too, ended up taking out a big chunk of hair at the back. Not my proudest moment.”

 

Lance breathed in the full air, dense with... something. Relief maybe, that he wasn’t alone. Keith breathed too, deep breaths Lance could have heard from across the room. Both of their breaths synced up, calming breaths, inhale five seconds, exhale seven, rinse and repeat.

 

Keith broke their pattern first. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe so you don’t feel so alone in this. Maybe so I don’t feel so alone in this. Shiro knows and it helps but like. It’s still hard. I don’t want it to be hard for you.” His words came out hurried and slow all at once, picking over each thought but only after it had passed his tongue.

 

“I don’t want it to be hard for you either, Keith. I’m glad you told me this, that you trust me with this. Thank you. It um- It helps a lot knowing that you get it. Thanks.” Lance hoped his tone relayed the gratitude he felt. He hoped Keith could tell just how much it actually meant to him.

 

Keith smiled down at his lap, a subtle bittersweet smile, but still. “I- It’s no big deal.” His fingers stopped twisting in the hair tie. “I’m glad I can help.”

 

Lance folded his hands over Keith’s where they still rested in his lap, letting the pads of his fingers rub small circles over the warm skin beneath them. “Seriously Keith, thank you. I- Thanks. If you ever need to talk to somebody that’s not Shiro or like, just someone to distract you if it get’s bad, I’m here for you too, okay?”

 

Keith looked up at him, like he was half surprised at the words, before he smiled, more sincere than before. “Thanks” The word was loaded, filled with emotions Lance didn’t know if he was ready to name or deal with yet. A sincerity, a longing, a promise.

 

Lance makes a silent promise to himself too.

 

“Do you wanna do something? Right now I think I could use a distraction. We could play Killbot Phantasm?”

 

“Co-op or PVP?” Keith raises an eyebrow and smirks at him.

 

“PVP clearly, but as if you could beat me. I’m the king of Killbot.”

 

“We’ll see about that.” Keith picks up his controller as Lance sets up the game. They end up playing together all day, Hunk and Shiro occasionally checking on them, up until dinner when Hunk has to drag them out by their ears to get them to eat.

 

It was something small and silly but. It helped. And Lance couldn’t have been more grateful.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://genderfluidlancey.tumblr.com)


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